


a moment of breathless delight

by Cordelia



Series: had we but world enough [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia/pseuds/Cordelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'He was a scholar, a Ravenclaw, a lover of words and wisdom, yet he’d been reduced to a bumbling, blushing fool in the face of Jean Prouvaire.'</p><p>In which Combeferre is struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight, and Enjolras does not care about his lonely soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a moment of breathless delight

He was sitting by the fountain when he first laid eyes on him.  He had been waiting for Enjolras to return from escorting his old family friend from the headmaster’s office, a transfer student from Beauxbatons who had been sorted into Ravenclaw.  He wasn’t sure if his best friend was going to introduce the French student today, or if he was just showing him to Ravenclaw Tower, but either way he hadn’t been bothered.  Enjolras had assured him fiercely that Jean Prouvaire was a revolutionary at heart, and had already agreed to attend Les Amis meetings in the Room of Requirement.  

 

Combeferre had been told rather a lot about Jean Prouvaire.  Enjolras was ecstatic that his childhood friend and pen-pal would be attending Hogwarts to take his NEWTs, and had proceeded to tell Combeferre as many random facts about him as was possible.  He was a poet, he liked flowers, he was stunningly intelligent and extremely gentle.  He cultivated a crop of singing plants and was better at hexes than anyone else their age.  There was really nothing that Jean Prouvaire could not do.  Upon hearing his sorting, Combeferre had promised to been the new boy’s unofficial guide to Ravenclaw Tower.

 

What Enjolras had failed to tell Combeferre was very nearly the death of him.  The moment Combeferre looked up from the Potions textbook he was studying to spot a head of shiny golden curls, his heart constricted as he saw the man who walked beside his friend.  A bright, clear laugh cut through the air as Combeferre stared, transfixed, at the beautiful creature to whom it belonged.

 

Like Enjolras, the young man had long blonde hair which was tied up with a ribbon, although the stranger wore his in a plat that ran down his chest and was laced with little flowers.  The sun hit his glorious cheekbones and made his pale complexion glow in the afternoon light.  He was lithe and graceful and not particularly tall – he stood at least three inches shorter than Enjolras, yet to Combeferre it seemed as though everything around him bowed to his majesty.  Those precious moments of wonder were shattered when the boy’s eyes locked with his.  Blue, piercing eyes met his awed gaze and he felt a shock of lightning thrash through him.  There was still a smile on the beautiful man’s lips, and Combeferre’s breathing stopped entirely.  Suddenly feeling dizzy, he reached out a hand blindly to grip the wall of the fountain, unable to stop staring despite how strange he must have looked.  Unfortunately for Combeferre, the baking heat of September second and lack of oxygen entering his hitched lungs rendered the gripping of the fountain wall entirely useless.  Dizziness overwhelming and _oh God, he’s beautiful how is –_ Combeferre fainted back into the gurgling water behind him. 

 

“Combeferre?  Combeferre!”  Enjolras smacked him none too kindly around the face as he spluttered, eyes wide, waist deep in the fountain.  His brief lack of consciousness had lasted less than ten seconds, and he was now drenched head-to-foot in freezing water.  Teeth chattering, he glared at Enjolras.

“I was already awake, idiot.”  Enjolras did not look remotely offended.  Holding out his hand, Combeferre took it grudgingly and allowed himself to be heaved up into a standing position.  Now fully snapped out of his reverie, Combeferre hopped rather ungracefully over the wall and back onto the courtyard ground, his now soaking shoes squelching unpleasantly.  Sighing, he glanced at them.  _Brand new_.  Damn.

 

“Oh gosh, I do hope you’re alright.”  A woodwind, accented voice said softly.  “Do you feel well, Monsieur Combeferre?”  _Breathe, Combeferre._ Looking up slowly, the young Ravenclaw felt the colour rush to his damp cheeks as he once again met the gaze of the beautiful Jean Prouvaire.  They were close, only half a metre apart, and Combeferre began to feel dizzy again.  A hand shot out and grasped the top of his right arm firmly, and he felt as though he’d been touched by drops of burning sunlight.  Gaping a little, but now thoroughly grounded, Combeferre stared at the Frenchman transfixed. 

 

“Umm,”  Jean Prouvaire looked at him with concern.  Enjolras stood to the side, watching the exchange with raised eyebrows.  “I, err... Combeferre.  I’m – I’m Combeferre.”  Smiling hesitantly, Jean Prouvaire let go of his arm.  Combeferre tried not to let the anguish the sudden loss of heat caused show on his face.  It must have worked enough to fool the stranger, as his smile broadened into a charming grin.

 

“Enjolras has mentioned you many times in our letters.  He said that you were a Ravenclaw too?”  Combeferre nodded, desperately trying to focus his strangely clouded mind.  “I’m Jean Prouvaire.”  He held out his hand and Combeferre had just enough common sense to grasp the delicate looking fingers and shake their hands firmly.  Much to his surprise, Prouvaire’s grip was strong and assured despite their tender appearance. 

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Jean Prouvaire.”  Chuckling lightly ( _what a delightful, wonderful sound_ ), Jean Prouvaire shook his head.

 

 “Jehan.  I’d prefer it if you called me Jehan.” 

 

 “Of- of course!  Jehan.  Right, that’s... why, exactly-“

 

 “-because it’s the medieval version of his name, Christ’s sake ‘Ferre.”  Enjolras snapped, bored of the bumbling conversation in front of him.  Perhaps he would not have interrupted such an adorable conversation between his two friends on a normal day, but it was the start of term and he needed to plan the first Amis meeting of the year before afternoon lessons began.  Combeferre and Prouvaire could carry this conversation on in their common room.

 

Aware of his friend’s impatience, Combeferre reluctantly let go of the strangely ink-stained hand he had been gripping for a little too long.  Turning to his best friend, he let out a small sigh before straightening up and grabbing his bag from the ground.  Before he slung it over his shoulder, however, Jehan stopped him with a light hand on his.  Sucking in a quick breath, Combeferre felt his skin tingle where the other man’s hand grazed his gently. 

 

 “Please, monsieur.  Let me dry you off before we endeavour indoors.”  Pulling out his wand ( _ebony,_ Combeferre thinks _, probably with unicorn hair)_ Jehan mutters a spell under his breath and flicks his wrist.  In an instant Combeferre was dry again, warmer and cleaner than he’d felt before he’d entered the fountain.  He met Jehan’s gaze with a smile and nodded.

 

 “Thank you, Jehan,” he said softly.  Enjolras rolled his eyes.

 

 “Yes, thank you Jehan.  Now can we please go to lunch and plan for tomorrow?” 

 

As the three sixth-years headed indoors, Combeferre’s mind was whirring.  He was a scholar, a Ravenclaw, a lover of words and wisdom, yet he’d been reduced to a bumbling, blushing fool in the face of Jean Prouvaire.  He’d felt attraction before, but this... this was new.  This was scary and strong and _the way he said my name_. 

 

 _Calm down_ , Combeferre told himself.  _Give it a few days.  These feelings for Jehan will no doubt fade to near nothing once I get to know him properly.  It’s just the start of term buzz, that’s all._

 

One month later, Combeferre met Marius at the back of the library.

 

 “Sorry, ‘Ferre, say that again?”

 

 “I need your help,” said Combeferre quietly.  Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead.  “I’m in love with Jean Prouvaire.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for Les Mis, and I haven't written anything in a long time, so please forgive any mistakes/rusty writing. First work in what will probably be quite a long series. More ships to come!


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